


Pancakes for Dinner

by ScullyLovesQueequeg



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Incomplete, Unrequited Love, WIP, Work In Progress, not finished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg/pseuds/ScullyLovesQueequeg
Summary: I refuse to believe this is the first time someone wrote something for this pairing. Whatever the case may be, whoever said getting rid of sexual tension was healthy clearly didn't know Mulder.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story I wrote and meant to finish but to be honest, I don't know if I have it in me to. I uploaded it here just as a keep-alive signal, so you guys didn't think I disappeared.
> 
> I really do ship the fuck out of this. Except when I don't. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I'm sorry my writing of explicit stuff is so bad. I'm getting better, I promise. At least it's like "HE SMASHES HIS DICK IN HER VAGINA!!!"

“I didn't travel all the way here, for a slice of pizza,” He says, and she finds that his voice brings a chill up her spine, and reminds her of the first drizzles of an early morning steamy shower.

This is the game that they play; it was their ritual, and they went through it every time he came over, in the middle of the night.

He always came in with a gift. Mostly candy. After she’d accept them, she would let him inside, and close the door behind him.

This time, he has no gift.

“I was in the neighborhood,” He prefaces the admission, “And I figured I could maybe pay you a visit. But I'm not eating pizza because I eat that all the time.”

“You don't have to,” She says, her silky robe open slightly, but enough to see that she has on a red and black laced babydoll that stops halfway down her thighs. It is made of a diaphanous material, and it’s not hard to see that she did not have on a bra. “What would you rather eat instead?”

His immediate, reply would have been to answer smartly, ‘Your pussy, maybe,’ but he has enough sense to not announce this desire, instead shrugging and giving her his back so he can remove his coat.

“You didn't even try,” She says, slowly approaching him, to gauge his mood. She saunters towards him from behind and slipped her arms around his waist, digging her chin into his shoulder.

“No, but seriously,” He says, turning to face her. “What do you have to eat that isn't pizza?”

“Pizza from New York is the best,” She says, reluctantly disengaging him and making for the fridge.

_Typical Mulder, food on his mind._

And she doesn't even care, because she’s happy to whip something up for him quickly. She hates the way that the men in her office make crude jokes, telling her to go back to the kitchen, or something equally sexist. Mulder never says anything like that, and she appreciates it; she knows it’s probably because he works with Scully, but he also doesn’t seem the kind of person to make those kind of remarks in general.

“I've had enough pizza to last me a lifetime. Spending a week here in New York, it's all you really have time to eat, when it's not a bagel.” Mulder says, leaning on freestanding counter. He climbs to sit on a stool, and leans forward, his joints quietly clicking in and out of place as he adjusts himself in the seat. She glances over when she hears a particularly loud crack, and he gives her an embarrassed smile, that has a nervous and fleeting quality to it.

“Sorry, I spent most of the day at the New York public library with Scully, hunched over some things,” He explains. The mention of his partner’s name evokes no emotion from her, but he suspects that she will, in time come to resent his partner, for all the time she spends with him.

“How is she?” Marita asks, her voice low and conveying a tone that was stuck halfway between indifferent, and facetiousness. This makes Mulder laugh, and he rests his forearm on the counter, admiring the way her robes frame the underside of her calves and her backside. His eyes don't linger long, and settle elsewhere, on a nearby bouquet of flowers that were long past dead.

“She's good, I guess,” Mulder says with a shrug, and she turns to look at him, to read his expression. His eyes skillfully avoid hers, and instead land on the Teflon frying pan hissing silently; she returns her attention to the task of cooking, her wrist rotating in an indiscernible pattern as the butter melts on the pan. Beside her on the counter is a small container of already made batter, and he guesses—pancakes.

“That's good to hear.” Her words are hollow, and fall to the ground, fading into insignificance as she continues to tend to the stove, pouring the batter into the pan.

“Let's make a rule,” He suggests, momentarily distracted by the gentle motions she makes with her hands,

“Let's leave the work at work, how about it?”

“Okay,” Marita agrees, glad to be off the subject of something that had been causing her much strife lately.

“Okay, then. So how have you been?” He asks, and she pauses, deciding how to answer.

“My father came over,” She finally says. “He saw the flowers and asked about you. Indirectly, of course—if we’ve been dating long, if we used a condom every time we've slept together, if you had a job, if you were nice.”

“What did you tell him?” Mulder’s tone masks the worry he feels at the thought of meeting her father.

“That you were gainfully employed, that we weren't dating. And that we’ve never slept together. I did tell him you were nice, though.”

“That's good. You didn't have to lie about us having sex, though,” Mulder admits, with a shrug. He's not ashamed of it, and he senses she isn't either but he knows it's something they don't publicly acknowledge. It's just something that happens occasionally to them.

 

Like the first time they tried it. It was drunk, it was sloppy, in some hotel room, and he barely recalled it, but it felt like a tremendous burden had been lifted off his shoulders, and Marita could sense something had changed for him, too.

The second time, they were in her stairwell, and he'd been walking her upstairs to her apartment. She had been teasing him all night, and when they finally were alone in the stairwell, she came on to him strong. It didn't even last very long for either of them, but it was memorable in that they almost got caught.

The third time, it was on her couch, and every time after that it was always in her bed. They had only really done it five times, but it was three more than he had with Scully and with much more abandon, considering that both him and Marita were looking for something casual that they could pause and resume at any time.

The first time he had slept with Scully, was early in their relationship, before her abduction. It was a drunken mistake that the both of them refused to acknowledge.

The second time was bittersweet in that he thought she wasn’t going to be with him long. And then when she didn't leave, they both agreed it was something that they didn't need complicating their relationship.

 

“I'm making you pancakes,” Marita says, her voice snapping Mulder out of his thoughts and back to reality. “How many do you think you'll want?”

“Just three,” Mulder mumbles, his eyes landing on the dead bouquet.

“Marita, why did you keep those flowers?” He finally asks, and she regards him with an unreadable look.

“Because you gave them to me.”

“They're dead…”

“I'll replace them when I find something better,” She says, putting his pancake in the plate, and walking it over to him. The syrup is already out, waiting to be used and handled, and after pouring a generous amount, he licks his fingers, and begins to eat.

He's teasing her now, his jaw working slowly, since he knows she is watching him. She is captivated by him, and taken by surprise by his charming demeanor.

“These are really good,” He says, and she nods her approval, waiting for the other one be ready.

She makes him three pancakes, and when he is done, she sees there is some syrup on his lips, and taking a napkin, she dabs it clean. He laughs breathlessly and so does she, but they lean in to kiss, Mulder’s arms reaching to hoist her up. Her legs fold around his waist, and she draws her arms over his shoulders, still planting kisses on his lips.

“Mmmm, this is your favorite part, isn't it?” He asks, his lips moving against hers, and his words half muffled.

“Yes,” She whispers, and he carries her to the counter and sits her on it. She drops her robe.

“You minx. Let me put my plate away,” He says, disengaging her. She leans back on the counter and watches him as he takes his plate and washes it.

“I bet if I go to your house, your dishes are at least 3 days old,” She says, looking down and playing with the edge of her nightie.

“I don't use dishes because I eat out all the time,” He says, with no humor in his voice. This _is_ the joke, though.

“I'm sure she enjoys it.” Her tone is slightly childish.

“She does, but not nearly as much as you do.” He replies, and she feels her skin grow hot, because he is teasing her and using innuendos to seem like he is being coy.

“You're a slick asshole,” She says as he makes his way over to her, parting her legs so he could stand between them. He gives her a small smile, and she can see it in his eyes that even though he is glad to be here, he is tired. She almost feels bad for wanting him.

“I try,” He says, opening her robe, and running his fingers over the gossamer material of her nightie. He can see her stomach, the way her tummy folds and the stretch marks that spider out from her hips and run up her sides. They are like roads, and he knows all the shortcuts, and the speed limits and lights that dot every one of them, because he's been there before and he doesn't care.

“You got this for me, didn't you?” He asks, pausing his fingers at the lacy edge of the nightie. Her hands close over his.

“Yes,” She whispers lowly, “I did. I've never had to go shopping for sexy lingerie before,” She says this excitedly, and he knows that though she won't say it, she likes the way this feels. The way they feel. He prays that she isn't falling in love, and he prays the same for himself. It is a dark fear that keeps him from seeing her, weeks at a time almost, but simultaneously runs him back. It's a concern she had voiced before and they both laughed it off, but her voice says that something has changed and they should talk.

So he says nothing and instead kisses her. He drowns in the kiss, while being faintly aware of her fingers fumbling at his shirt, undoing the buttons in a hurry. When the buttons are undone, she tugs at his shirt insistently, silently begging him to take it off. Just as quickly as she had undone the buttons, he had shrugged off the shirt, breaking away from the kiss to get his arms out.

Her hands run up and down the expanse of his chest, her fingers remembering the way his scars and his skin felt. There’s a new wound, it's been dressed, and she runs her fingers over the bindings, and he inhales sharply, watching as she continues to inspect him.

“What happened here?” She asks, and he takes her hands to kiss them. She knows he is avoiding having to answer. He hides things from her, as she hides things from him, though ironically, she is his informant, someone he trusts almost as much as Scully.

“Nothing,” He finally answers, and she does not press him, instead gliding her fingers to his navel and probing. He chuckled, his hands supporting her wrist as she continues to poke him. She laughs softly, and he laughs too, and then, when the moment is perfect, she says quietly,

“I love your company. I wish you could come with me.” She says softly, her hand finally leaving his navel, so she can undo his belt buckle. When it comes free, she unzips his pants and unfastens the button, so he is forced to step out of them.

“Where are you going?” He asks, casually discarding his slacks, so that they are somewhere with his shoes and shirt.

“I'm not allowed to say. I can't even call you,” She says, and he understands; it's the nature of their relationship, and of her job.

“Bring me a gift?”

“I'll try,” She says, though she does not directly engage his eyes. He sneaks a kiss in, and pulls away, but she follows, taking his hands and kissing him back desperately.

“You're not all here,” He says, and she knows. Her mind is on the trip to Kazakhstan she must make the next day.

“I'm sorry. My mind is just elsewhere right now…” She says, and she feels him nibbling on her neck because he wants her here and now. He does not answer her directly, instead, his hand moves up and down her inner thigh, and she holds him close because it feels good and she wants this badly. The thoughts of the airport, and her job begin to float away in a convoluted haze and are replaced by more primal thoughts, like Mulder’s hand crawling up her thigh, and moving under her nightie.

When she feels Mulder’s hand on her breast, she inhales sharply. He pauses, concerned that he has hurt her somehow, but she replies quickly,

“Cold hands.”

This makes him laugh. 

“We’re not doing it here, are we?” She asks, only realizing that they are still in her kitchen.

“We can move if you want,” Mulder says, his hand moving back down to her hips. She nods, and holds on to him as he hoists her up off the counter and carries her into the room. He dumps her unceremoniously on the bed, and flops down beside her, on his belly. This makes her laugh, because she was expecting something much gentler. She rolls over on her side and runs her fingers over his back. He closes his eyes and enjoys the way her fingers dance up his spine. She stops to take off her nightie, and the resumes her motions.

“I just can't keep my hands off you,” She says, and he makes a noise of agreement because for him it's the same. She continues to move her fingers along his back, content that she could spend time with him.

“I remember the first time you came here unannounced.” She says, and he recalls the moment vaguely, about a year ago, before he took off for Tunguska.

“I'm sorry if I scared you,” He says, and she presses her lips on his shoulder.

“No, not scared. It was exciting,” She whispers, and this makes him smile.

“You made me sit on the couch.”

“You fell asleep. When I came out to tell you I found the stuff you needed, you were sleeping, so I left you there a little.” She continues down his spine, leaving a trail of kisses.

“I appreciate that. I have poor sleeping habits,” Mulder admits, as her kisses move up his spine again. She stops at his shoulder, and moves away, to admire him. To her, he is perfect. She watches the way his chest expands as he breathes, and she is in awe of him. He glances over, wondering why she has stopped.

“I guess I never realized quite how attractive you are,” She says, answering the unasked question as she lay on top of him. Her fingers entangle in his hair, and he knows something has changed, because she is toying with him longer than usual.

“I could say the same for you,” He says, and he can feel her shiver. She slides off his back and rests beside him. He turns so that he is facing her, but she is looking at the ceiling. He nuzzles her neck, pulling her in, and she hangs onto his arms, feeling protected, from the eyes that watch them during the day.

“I’d pay all the money in the world to know what goes on in your head,” Mulder mumbles, his lips against her skin. Her eyes close, and she allows herself to relax, breathing deeply and inhaling his scent.

“I'm thinking about you, love.” The word sticks out awkwardly, and he knows she doesn't say it often, just like it sounds when he calls Scully “Dana”.

“What about me?”

“I'm thinking about what you're planning to do to me,” She whispered in a wicked tone. He nuzzled her again.

“I'm yours, it's whatever you want,” He says, and she is glad because no one ever asks her what she wants.

“I want you, Mulder. All of you.” She says, and she feels him pause.

“You have me,”

“No, I have some of you. A part of you will always be with her, and still part of you with your work. I wish I could have all of you, Mulder. I want to be the one you bring home when you visit your mother for the holidays. I want you to be the one who helps my father with the decorations at Christmas.” Marita says, and Mulder knows he can't give her this.

“Marita, I can't… You know my work comes before everything else. I can't promise you something I'm not sure of, but I can tell you that you have all of me tonight.” He says honestly. This isn't enough for her, but she knows it's the best both of them can do, and she sits up because she feels like she's going to cry. He sits up beside her, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her cheeks, her face, her hair.

“I love you.” She whispers, and he knows he cannot say it back because part of him loves being with her, and cares, but he cannot say that he loves her because it's Scully that he thinks about as he falls asleep, and it's Scully who holds his heart on a leash, tugging and pulling.

“I love you even if you don't love me,” She says. He moves down her sides, kissing her. He moves under her arm, and around to where the curves of her breasts are. Her fingers entangle in his hair again, and she lays back. He moves so that he is kneeling over her, so he can kiss her skin. His lips brush her collarbone, and move down, stopping to play with her nipple. She holds his head with her hands and permits a small moan of pleasure. He moves on to the other, and she moans again, thinking about the way she feels when she's with him, and the dead flowers on the kitchen counter. Her mind is so focused on the image that she is genuinely surprised when she feels his hand gently parting her thighs, and rubbing her through her panties. It jolts her back to the moment, as Mulder’s hand works her up, and his other hand keeps her legs open. He has stopped kissing her, and is now concentrating his efforts on making her feel good, but her hand stops him, and she removes it.

“Hold on, this isn't fair. I'm not all here, and you're doing your best to make me feel better. Why don't I take over?” She asks, and he shrugs, his hands moving to rest on the bed. She gets on her knees, and removes his cock from the slit in his shorts, stroking it a couple times before engulfing the tip and working her way down.

He lets out a low hiss, his hand moving to the back of her head to guide her. She slowly begins to bob her head up and down his shaft. He gives her a quiet moan, closing his eyes as her hand works his shaft in tandem with her mouth. It didn't take long for him to begin moving his hips as well, though she eases up in her efforts, eventually pulling away from him with a wet pop. He chuckles nervously, afraid that she has changed her mind about being with him, but to his surprise, she begins to wiggle out of her underwear. He does the same.

When she is finished, she crawls over to him and flops on the bed. Mulder gently nudges her but she doesn't move. She lays very still, and this causes him to laugh a little.

“What are you doing?” Mulder asks, his lips moving to kiss her breasts once more.

“I'm dead,” She replies. Mulder pauses, and he moves so he is directly over her, and continues to tease her. She gives off a low moan that is almost reflexive.

“Hmm, I thought you were dead,” Mulder mumbled, his lips moving against her skin. She shudders, and embraces his head as he moves further down her body, so he is at her mound. Her breathing is halted. There’s a fluttering sensation in her belly that tightens into a taut rope. She's readying herself for the sudden jolt of pleasure that is soon to follow, but instead, Mulder moves back up to her navel, leaving Marita frustrated. She huffs to show her displeasure, and he moves up to kiss her on the lips. She gently pushes Mulder away, and he moves off her, resting on his side.

“Quit teasing,” She says and he laughs, rolling over on his back. She sits up and admires his body again, this time, using her hand to feel along the length of his shaft. She tugs it gently a couple times, before letting him go. He gives her a grunt of displeasure.

“Okay, so we’re even…” He says, his voice getting huskier as they continued this twisted, teasing game. She had returned to a supine position, and had tucked her hands behind her head in self-satisfaction. Not to be outdone, he puts his hand on her thigh and drags her closer. She didn't expect him to be so rough, and again, she grins, knowing that with her, he feels free to treat her differently than he treats Scully.

She is close enough to put either leg over his shoulder, and she does so, spreading herself for him.

“Damn, you're so wet,” He says, looking down, and eyeing her familiar folds. It seems obscene almost, the way she is spread for him, but it doesn't bother him. Why would it?

“I know, because you keep teasing me,” She says, shifting in an attempt to recapture his attention. He's holding her knees which are hooked on to his shoulders. Slowly, he sets her down. She whines her protest, but before she can even think to say anything, he moves behind her, lifting her leg, by the knee. She is about to question him, when she feels him enter her slowly. She gives him a surprised gasp, but releases it as a sigh when she feels him shifting so he’s pressed against her.

“I've always wanted to try this,” He mutters, kissing her along her neck. Once they are both acclimated to the position, Mulder begins to move in and out of Marita, leaving love bites on her neck. She pleads for him to move faster, and reaches down to feel where they are both connected.

“Holy shit,” He hisses against her skin, her touch sudden and electric. It surprises her too when he hisses, and she turns her head so she can face him. She buries him in a passionate kiss, and for a brief moment, wishes that he could stay with her and not have to go back to his hotel room.

When she breaks off the kiss, he buries his face in the back of her shoulder, knowing that he wasn't going to last much longer, and that he would have to go, and wait for another excuse to see her.

And then she disengages him. He gives off an involuntary whine, but he is quickly quieted when she moves to sit up, so she can straddle him. She leans forward to taste his skin, leaving her own love marks on him. He moans, and he knows somewhere in the back of his mind that when he sees Scully in the morning, he was going to have to explain why his neck was all marked up.

It doesn't matter by the time they are finished, the pair of them panting heavily. Marita rests against his chest and he holds her close, because in another life, he could love her. When they finally do disengage each other, it's slowly, and quietly, Mulder padding off to the shower, and Marita waiting for her turn.  
Marita’s turn comes and while she showers, he gets dressed again, and by the time she is done, he's ready to leave, just applying a bandage to cover up one of the more generous love bites she left.

“Nothing will make you stay?”

“I wish I could, but I'm still on assignment. When we’re done with the case, can I come see you again?” He asks, and she nods.

“I'll only be gone for a couple of days. I'll be back by Friday.”

“I can stay the weekend with you,” He says. She smiles.

“I'd like that.”

* * *

When he quietly makes his way into his hotel room, he changes out of his clothes and into his pajamas, ready to sleep. There was an early morning walk up call due in a couple hours, but he didn't mind. He hadn't seen any sign of Scully and he thanked his lucky stars for that.  
The early morning wake up call comes too soon, and Mulder groans, groping for the phone, and immediately hanging it up. Scully is next, knocking on the door of the adjoining suite they have and making her way inside to his room. She knocks first, does not get an answer, and then lets herself in.

“Mulder, what happened to your neck?” Scully asked, pointing out the bandage.

“Knicked myself shaving last night.” He replied, putting the blanket over his face.

“That's a big bandage for a small cut.”

“It's all I brought,” He said, turning over to ignore her. She yanked the blankets off of him, and left him flailing there, tossing his clothes at him.

“C’mon Mulder, we have to go—today is the last day for the trial, remember? I'll treat you to breakfast after.” Scully said, as she exited the room to wait for him outside. With a sigh, he got up to get dressed.

 

Court keeps him from thinking of Marita for most of the morning. When him and Scully are finished, they emerge from the courthouse, laughing at the antics that went on as the verdict was delivered. Marita is out of his mind, but just as quickly, she is brought back to mind when she sees a group of men heading up the stairs of the courthouse, and Marita is in tow. She spots Mulder and he spots her and she offers him a shy smile that he returns with a goofy one of his own. Scully catches the gestures between the two, and playfully goes,

“I think she likes you, Mulder.”

Mulder glances over at Scully and laughs, dismissing the statement, and leading her the rest of the way down the steps, they head for the rental.

“She's pretty. I didn't know you had a thing for blondes,” Scully teases, pulling down the passenger side visor for the mirror and checking herself in it quickly.

“I don't have a thing for anyone,” Mulder mumbles, putting on his seatbelt and glancing over in the rearview mirror to judge the distance between his bumper and the other bumper so he could pull out of the parking space.

“Not even women called BJ?”

“Not even them,” Mulder denies, smiling to himself. “So, breakfast. What did you have in mind?”

“How would you feel about pancakes? We passed a diner on our way here,” Scully points out, closing the visor. Mulder's mind wanders to Marita again, and he shifts slightly, remembering the way her lips felt against his skin.

“Uh,” He croaks, unintentionally, “the diner is fine, but I think I'll probably stick to bacon and eggs.”  
Scully looks over at him, a little suspiciously, at the sound of his voice croaking, but she dismisses it.

“Thank God the verdict was back so quickly,” Scully starts, as Mulder pulls out of the parking space and begins to drive, “I don't think I could have really waited. I'm not crazy about putting faith in a jury--it's easy to fool them into thinking whatever you like—for both sides.”

“Hmm, well, I don’t like court, I think it's boring and a waste of time, but I am glad we were here to testify. We even got some research done, so that was good… But I can't pretend I won't be happy to get back home.”

“We still have until Friday…” Scully mentions, almost shyly, and he glances at her, to gauge her mood.

“Yeah, we do.”

“…we could maybe… Do some sightseeing? I've never been to New York City for fun.” Her suggestion catches him by surprise, but it is a welcome one, since they hardly spend time doing anything outside of work.

“Alright, that sounds good. Maybe we can go see a game at the Garden.”

“Or… Maybe we could rent a boat out in Central Park.”

“Or we can catch a game at Shea.”

“Or watch something at the Met…”

“Or check out the peep shows over in Times Square…”

“Or we can go dancing…”

“Dancing? What's gotten into you? I don't dance.”

“You did it with Phoebe.” Scully says quietly, and he blinks, the time apparently out of his mind and not given much thought.

“I did, that was years ago. Anyways, why does it matter?”

“Mulder, I…” Her voice fades into nothing, and he pulls up into the parking lot. Once he pulls into a spot, he kills the engine and undoes the seatbelt, but does not get out of the car. Scully is staring at the dashboard, and Mulder is staring at her.

“…I guess it doesn't matter,” She mumbles, and gently, he touches her chin. She looks at him, and he leans in to kiss her. She kisses him back, uncaring about the family that has pulled up beside them, ogling at their display of affection.

When his hand lands on the side of her leg, the family ceases their act of ogling and hurries away before they can witness anymore. Scully’s hands are on Mulder’s face, and his hand slides up, under her skirt, as far as he can go, given the limited space her pencil skirt grants. She disengages him and slaps him, hard.

“Shit, sorry…” He says withdrawing his hand, and holding his face. She looks surprised, and she fixes her skirt, staring at him in shock.

“No,” She says, panting, and he raises a brow at her.

“I'm sorry,” She continues, “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Mulder rubs the side of his face, feeling embarrassed, but exits the car, and heads for the diner, watching the family disperse almost immediately, now that the ‘show’ was over. Scully followed behind him, using her fingers to draw a circle in his free hand—and indication that she wanted it held. He obliged her, and she squeezed his hand gently as if to thank him for not continuing.

“You didn't have to hit me so hard,” Mulder says, when they were finished with eating, and back in the car. He’s inspecting himself in the mirror, to see if she left a mark. She hadn't, though his face is still red.

“I'm sorry. To be honest, I wasn't expecting you to be that bold.” She admits, avoiding his gaze when he looks over.

“I don't know what got into me. I'm sorry.”

“I didn't mind the kiss, but your hand—”

“Sorry. Old habits die hard. Felt like college,” He lies, and this makes her laugh.

“I didn't know you were so popular in college.”

He doesn't respond, but he begins driving to the hotel when they're ready, thinking about the sex he had with Marita.

 

Scully chooses to go and see a show, but she might as well have chosen sex because she doesn't stop teasing him.

The show she chooses is a Broadway performance of The Phantom of the Opera, and Mulder couldn't care any less, but more than once, her hand finds itself on his knee, and she squeezes it, or on his thigh, and squeezing it, and during intermission, when she comes back to their seat, she leans in and puts something in his pocket, and tells him not to touch it, but by the size he thinks it's her panties, and it drives him crazy to find out.

When they leave, she takes it back and it goes into her purse, and when they're in the car, he asks,

“Did you give me your panties when we were at the show?”

This makes her laugh, and she gives him an enticing look.

“I don't know, do you want to check?” She is grinning wickedly, inviting him to put his hand under her skirt, and he almost obliges her. His mind goes back to her slap, and he declines.

“I'm wearing my underwear, Mulder. I would never dream of going out without them on.”

“So what the hell was that all about?” Mulder asks indignantly, shifting about in his seat in an attempt to hide his obvious arousal. She takes it out of the purse and tosses it into his lap--it's a handkerchief. He groans, but she's still laughing. He can't tell if she wants him or just to tease him.

 

They order dinner from hotel’s room service. They open the adjoining doors to their suite, and eat together, laughing and sharing food like they are on a vacation.

When they're done eating, and the trays are left outside, she invites him to stay on her bed and watch TV. He is reluctant to join her. He's not really sure what her angle is, but after she begs him, he climbs on to her bed.

It begins innocently enough—they're watching a movie, and Mulder is engrossed in the film, and she's engrossed in him. Slowly, she slips her hand into his, thier fingers entwining. He glances over at her and she smiles. He gives her a nervous smile back, and returns his attention to the TV.

The next time his concentration is broken, is because she rests against him, and lets her eyes close. He glances over and gently moves her hair from her face, and thinks of the time he's spent with her, and with Marita. Her eyes flutter open and she looks up at him, questioningly, and he leans in to kiss her. She kisses him back.

They miss the next program on TV because they're too busy making out. Twice, Mulder finds himself exploring her body, and each time, she allows him, turning her head from him and moaning softly, when he touches her. The first time, his hand is on her inner thigh, squeezing it, and the second time, his lips are kissing her neck.

“Mulder, we can't—” She manages between pants, as he slides his hand further up her thigh, risking another slap.

“Mm, why not?” He asks, his voice muffled by her skin.

“Because this will change too much between us.” She says, and he obliges her, pulling his hand back down her thigh. She sits up, and so does he, both of them red in the face.

“I'm sorry, I just get a little carried away. I'll keep my hands to myself.” Mulder says, glancing away at the quilted sheets that they were laying on.

“Mulder, I enjoy your company. I enjoy your friendship, and while I know it seems differently, I want to just remain your friend for now. I care about you--you're my best friend, and you've been a constant support of mine. While I know you would probably want us to be more than friends, I think that we’re fine as it currently stands.” Scully says, and Mulder nods, though he doesn't feel anything at the moment.

* * *

 

“She said she wants to be friends,” Mulder says to Marita the next night, as she gently rubs his back. Marita does not say anything, but allows him to continue his venting, knowing that he doesn't have much in the way of support outside of a scant few.

“She said that maybe a couple hours after leading me to believe she took her underwear off for me,” Mulder mentions, and Marita clicks her teeth in disapproval.

“And she just wants to be friends? She's probably looking for a good fuck then, have you maybe considered keeping her as a friend with benefits?” Her hands work down his back, and there is a change in the amount of force she applies—it increases, and he can tell that she is slightly bothered.

“That’s possible, but… I don't know. I just can't.” There is a moment of silence between them and he knows she is thinking about them and where they stand, so he continues,

“You know, I didn't get a chance to tell you but I got a real kick out of seeing you yesterday. The way you looked at me, my stomach felt weird. I… I liked it.” Mulder admits, and she goes back to how she had been handling him before. It is something that makes her happy to know, judging by how she lingered on his lower back before slowly moving back up again.

“I'm glad. I was surprised to see you there with her, but she seemed to like me too. Agent Scully is pretty.” Marita remarks, though the sentiment sounds more sad than she means it to. Mulder turns to face her.

“I think you and her are apples and oranges. Scully is important to me, that much is true, but I'm here with you now, not her, and I'll be yours for the weekend. I've never done that with her. Marita, I like you a lot. I think you're an amazing woman, and I think that you're beautiful and intelligent, too.”

“Take me out somewhere, please?”

“Okay, alright,” Mulder agrees with a smile. He puts his shirt back on, and reaches for the newspaper on her table. She watches him, stretching so her feet are in his lap. He doesn't seem to mind at all.

“Okay, we can catch a show if you like, then do dinner… Or we could maybe go to a comedy club, or go walking down the Promenades…”

“Mulder, what do you want to do?”

“Me? Oh, I'm fine with anything, really…” Mulder says, and Marita frowns.

“You're lying—are you afraid I won't agree? I just want to spend time with you.”

“No, I… Alright. I have never been to Coney Island. Can we maybe do that?” Mulder asks, and Marita grins, and gets up to change.

  
An hour later, they arrive at the boardwalk at Coney Island, and he decides to indulge himself with her.

The first thing they do, is get on the Cyclone. When they come off the roller coaster, they complain of mild neck pain, and they laugh about it as they walk along the streets. Mulder is telling a story and Marita is engrossed, hanging on his arm and listening to every word.

“Hey there Big Guy,” One of the carnies calls out to Mulder, and he pauses to look over, interested.

“How’s about you try knocking over these bottles and get your girlfriend something nice?”

The suggestion emboldens Mulder, and he pays for a baseball and tosses it. The bottles fall, and Marita chooses a prize, a large bear that is colored purple. She thanks the man, and then Mulder, and carries it with them as they walk towards the other side of the park.

“How do you feel about getting on the Wonder Wheel with me?” Marita asks when they pass near it, and Mulder feels that bubbling feeling in his stomach and he agrees. They hop on, and sit close, watching the lights flash and the people milling about. The beach is closed because it's after Labor Day, but this doesn't stop some people from trying to have fun.

“Mulder?” Marita’s voice is soft, and while he can't see her completely, some of the lights hit the inside of the little booth they are in, and he can see she's serious. The booth rocks back and forth as they ascend higher into the sky, and then it hangs perfectly, the moonlight streaming in an illuminating her and the beach behind her. The waves are lapping gently on the shore, and before she can even begin to say what was bothering her, Mulder leans in to kiss her.

The kiss is a slow one that lingers even after they begin to move again. When they break it off, Mulder is still staring, but Marita looks away, troubled.

“Mulder, I don't—I don't think we should do this anymore. This isn't fair. I love spending time with you, and I'm sorry to say that I'm falling in love, but this is all wrong, and I feel like I would only make you unhappy.” Marita says, and Mulder slides his hand over hers.

“I'm happy now though.” Mulder states, and she gives him a bitter chuckle.

“Was that because you imagined being here with Scully instead of me?”

“No. If anything, all I think about is you when I'm with her. I just want to spend all my time with you, even when we aren't having sex.”

“You’re just saying that because you don't want to stop having sex with me, because Scully won't give you any.” Marita says indignantly. Mulder sighs, and turns to face the window, as the Wonder wheel descended.

When they get off the ride, they walk side by side, but do not hold hands. The magic is gone, and Mulder knows that he's lost both Scully and Marita, somehow.

It was a balancing act, almost. He would be a fool to admit that he only loved one them—he loved Scully, and would gladly do anything for her, but at the same time, he saw himself quietly threaded and entwined in Marita’s life too. Theirs was a funny relationship, in that he didn't feel he had to work at it—it just was. It was his idiosyncrasies that drew Marita to him, and while Scully didn't mind, she quietly endured his endless rambling and running in his wake when he was on to a lead.

Marita did not try to match Mulder in his wit. She did not dissuade him when he spoke of the paranormal, and offered to help, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She listened with great interest to his older cases, and she found herself mesmerized with the things he had done.

But the two women were apples and oranges. Scully had never, and would never lie to Mulder. Marita hadn’t even confirmed if her name was an alas or not. Marita was stunning, in an almost unobtainable way. Scully had a radiating sort of plain beauty that made the whole room look nice.

 

When Marita and Mulder make it back to Marita’s place, they both do not speak to each other, until finally, Mulder asks,

“Can I come upstairs?”

She nods, and he kills the engine and follows after her, carrying the large stuffed animal.

“Where are you going to put this?” Mulder asks, indicating the stuffed toy when they are inside. Marita looks over, shedding her jacket, and untying her hair.

“In bed with me.” Marita says, and Mulder scoffs.

“Where do I sleep?”

“On the couch.” Marita said, without looking over. Mulder shrugs and makes himself at home on her couch as he watches her move around her apartment, bringing it to life.

“So how long are you going to be upset with me?” Mulder asks, his arms hanging over the back of his couch.

“Until you stop playing games with me.”

“That is—that is not true.”

“You know it's true because you only ever wanted to fuck me.” Marita contests, hotly, because she cannot believe he is denying this.

“You really think that's what this has been about? Because let me tell you, with all the money I've spent on you, I could have paid for a hooker a dozen times over. This was never about the sex. That was just an added bonus. And if you really think I'm using you, then fine, we can stop sleeping together.”

Marita isn't sure what to say. There were times when he would show up, just to keep her company, and sometimes call, and talk about everything but sex. Part of her had wondered for a while if he too was falling in love, but she could never be sure.

“I'm going to just go. Thank you for coming out with me to Coney Island,” Mulder says, grabbing his things and making his way for the door. Marita looks over, a pang of guilt making her exhale shakily.

“Mulder, please don't go. I'm sorry, I'm just so tired of being used. You're probably the only person who doesn't use me. This is all wrong, and I just wish I could have you.”

Her words cause him to pause, and he turns to face her, frowning. He waits for her to say more but when she does not speak, he walks over to her.

“I'm sorry if I made you feel like I was just using you—I went out of my way to make sure that wasn't the case…” He says, trailing off. She takes his stuff and puts it down on the couch beside them, so there is nothing between them. His body language is open, hands at his sides, leaned forward a little, ready to talk. But she doesn't want to talk about it anymore. She just wants him. All of him.

“Mulder, I'm sorry. I fell in love with you,” Marita starts. His brows furrows as he listens to her, and crosses his arms over his chest, ready to guard his own involved feelings.

“I'm sorry too,” Mulder responds, thinking of Scully, and the time he spent on the bed with her.

“How do you feel, Mulder? I'd like to know. How do you feel about me?” Marita asks, and Mulder looks down at the ground, remembering how Scully slapped him.

“I should go,” Mulder says, and Marita feels her heart sink.

“I love you.” Marita says, but Mulder feels like he is drowning, and he needs to find a way to break the surface.

“I can't stay here.” He says, gathering his things.

“Goddamn it, Fox, what is your fucking issue?” Marita yells this, and a heavy silence falls over the room. Even the people in the other apartments fall silent.

“I didn't mean for this to happen.” He speaks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn't mean for any of this and now… I feel like I'm trapped in a snare. The only way out is to cut off my own foot.”

Marita sighs, and heads to her room, closing the door behind herself.


End file.
